Slain Ye Shall Be
by Miranda Crystal-Bearer
Summary: Rated for strong language. It isn't really swearing, but it's close. Feanor's last few minutes in his world. Switches perspective once.


Slain Ye Shall Be  
  
  
  
"....which is called the Prochecy of the North, and the Doom of the Noldor. '...and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos...The Valar have spoken.' "  
-- The Silmarillion, "Of the Flight of the Noldor," pg. 98-99  
  
  
  
"....Then his sons raised up their father and bore him back towards Mithrim. But as they drew near to Eithel Sirion and were upon the upward path to the pass over the mountains, Feanor bade them halt; for his wounds were mortal, and he knew that his hour was come. And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of middle-erath, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to thier oath, and to avenge their father. Then he died; but he had neither burial or tomb, for so fiery was his spirit that as it sped his body fell to ash, and was borne away like smoke; and his likeness has never again appeared in Arda, neither has his spirit left the halls of Mandos. Thus ended the mightiest of the Noldor, of whose deeds came both their greatest renown and their most grievious woe."  
-- The Silmarillion, "Of the Return of the Noldor," pg. 125  
  
  
  
"For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos...."  
  
Those words will not leave my head. I cannot hear my son's voices for them. They form to the throbbing of the pain in me. I am weakened, I know. I am wounded. My body is not responding to my thoughts. I know something will happen. I know that it it somehow hopeless to bear me to the healers. I cannot say why I know this. I simply do.   
  
"Stop," I whisper, and a hand carefully strokes my hair.  
  
"Father?" Amrod, I believe.  
  
"Stop."  
  
"We're going to take you to the healers, Father." Amras.  
  
"No. Put me down."  
  
They obey, and the litter stops. Seven faces gather around me. My eyes do not focus well, but I identify them all; Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. All of them are here. I look past them, and see, far off, the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth. Suddenly, I know. I know that that no power of my people wil ever overthrow it. I know that this is hopeless, that the oath, sworn in reckless anger, will avail nothing.  
  
"Curse Morgoth! May Eru damn him to eternal tomernt! Curse him! Curse his name twice, nay three times! May the fires of his towers be turned against him! May his demon sevants turn upon him!" My voice rises, and I choke upon thick hatred. "I hold you to your oath, my sons! Sworn are you! Avenge me! I cannot stay...."  
  
The pain is mounting, driving me wild. My vision begins to dim. The cries of my sons ring in my ears, only to be slowly drowned out by the chanting words. "....slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be...." The pain is a burning torment. I cannot stand it. It grows, tearing at my very being. No toture devised by Morgoth could equal this. I cry out as it begins to consume me, angrily, hungrily devouring my soul. It nearly has me.... And then the burst of relief. The sudden release sweeps over me, sweetly painful in its own way. It is gone.  
  
I am called. I come before Namo, lord of the halls of Mandos. I am suddenly shamed. I realize the weight of my deeds, for standing behind him is his spouse, Vaire. She is weaving, and the tapestry holds the thread of my life. I can see how it rubbed discordantly with the pattern, how it refused to blend in. Sorrow fills me. I know now my folly.  
  
"Peace, Curufinwe. There is a way." Este, the healer, approaches and smiles at me, and my heart leaps. "There is forgiveness, Curufinwe Feanor. But only if you humble your proud heart and repent of your deeds. Eru decreed it be so."  
  
"It that all that is required?" I ask, trembling. It seems so simple, for all that I have done.  
  
"It is all Eru Himself asks," she answers, gently. "He grieved when you went astray, Curufinwe. He wants you to come back."  
  
"I want to come back." My voice breaks. "I repent. I have been wayward and rebellious. I know my folly. I ask forgiveness, I plead it." My voice fails me.  
  
And then the release. It is like before, save I had never known I was being consumed. The freedom is greater than any I'd ever known. I could feel love swell around me, in my heart. The Valar present smile, and I weep. I weep for joy, for I am free. I am forgiven.  
  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
  
Feanor's body stiffened, and a cry left his lips, a wordless plea to whatever ears that would hear. Then he went limp, face paling, eyes suddenly empty. Meadhros reached out to touch his father's lifeless face. Feanor's body dissolved, as though burnt away from within. A rush of heat blasted Maedhros' palms, and he drew back with a cry. Ash stirred around the seven brothers, and then settled. Feanor's body was gone. Silence blanketed the Elves for long moments.  
  
It was the two youngest that simultaneously broke the silence, throwing their heads back and wailing in grief. Before their cry had ended, the others joined in, keening their sorrow to the heavens. Seven voices rose in a mournful concert that sowly waned into sobbing as they stumbled back to Mithrim. The Noldor that the sons encountered on the way to their father's tent quickly scampered out of the way, for in that hour of grief their faces were terrible to look upon.  
  
In the tent they knelt, huddled in a ring on the floor. They had never known grief like this. Each began to look to Maedhros, for he was the eldest, and had always been their leader in childhood. He was just as broken as they, but knew when to push his own feelings aside for them. Slowly, he looked from one to another, eyes roaming their ring of sorrow. His eyes were clouded with grief as he saw his brothers. He held out his hands to them, palms upward, and was surprised. His palms were burned, though rapidly healing. He bore the scars with him ever after, and on both palms the scar of a flame burning was clear.  
  
One by one, the seven brothers laid their hands together, and promised to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father.  
  
  
  
And slain were they. 


End file.
